Maia

She was about to answer when she became unthinkingly aware that something was still amiss. The boat, though now free, was lower in the water and moving very sluggishly. She made her way aft. She could hear the bilge slopping in the dark. Gods! she thought. No wonder the damned mattress was sodden to pulp!

The well of the boat, astern of the cubby-hole, was awash with the rain. She put one foot into it. It was over her ankle and half-way up her shin.

"Zenka!" she called. "Come and help me bail!"

He was beside her in moments. She felt so angry and harassed by all that had been allowed to go wrong that she simply put one of the wooden bailers into his hand and herself took up the other without a word.

Can't take your eye off them for a minute. Silly bastards sit there for hours in this rain and never even think of bailing! Why the hell did I ever come? They deserve to drown.

The rain was falling yet more heavily now, pouring over

them, rattling on the boat and hissing on the water. Every time she turned to empty the bailer overside it stung her ear and cheek, so that at length she could stand it no longer and asked Zen-Kurel to change places: but soon it felt as bad on the other cheek.

There seemed no end to the bailing. In all seriousness- for there was still very little to be seen-she began to wonder whether the rain could actually be gaining on them and filling the boat. Her right arm grew so tired that she had to change the bailer to her left hand and work that much more clumsily. She knew her pace was slackening, but there was no pause in the steady rhythm with which Zen-Kurel bent and flung. '

"Here, let me take over, Maia," said Bayub-Otal from behind her. "You go and steer for a bit."

At that moment the bow struck full tilt against something hard and unyielding. There was a shuddering thump of wood against wood,.

Zen-Kurel, first to collect himself, stood up and went forward.

"We've hit the bank!"

"But that's impossible! The bank's here on my left," called back Bayub-Otal.

"I can't help it. It can only be the bank. It's revetted with wooden stakes."

Maia felt herself giving way to bewilderment and near-desperation. The darkness and rain were like a curse, destroying whatever they tried to do. The bilge water was inexhaustible. She was aching in every muscle. Now, to crown it all, the bank had apparently become bewitched and altered its position in the dark. Another knock like that would probably stave in the bow. I must keep my head and think straight, else we're going to drown and that bitch Terebinthia'U have been proved right.

"Zenka!" she called. "Is there soft ground behind the stakes?"

"Too soft! It's all mud."

"Hook the anchor in behind the stakes, then, and hitch the rope as short as you can. We'll just have to wait for daylight. We can't risk another bang like that."

Zen-Kurel did as she had said. Once more the boat pivoted, the stern swung over to fetch up against the bank and sure enough Maia found at her left hand a line of thick, wooden stakes, driven side by side into the bed of

the river. Their tops were only an inch or two clear of the surface. She plumbed again with the oar, but this time could find no bottom. So the stakes-which were stout and firm-must be something like ten or twelve feet long at least. Each one was nearly as broad across the top as the width of her hand: a stout structure, whatever it might be.

This was something altogether outside Maia's experience. She could only suppose that they must have run into some sort of mole or jetty projecting into the stream. But why would there be such a thing in this solitude, with no lights, no voices, no signs of a village or even a house? At a loss, she felt afraid. Yet she was still more' afraid of her own fear. Once I lose my head we're finished! Having dug in the stern anchor in the same way that she had told Zenka to secure the other, she went back to bailing, helped by Bayub-Otal.

"Maia," said Zen-Kurel, "I'm going to find out what sort of place this is."

"No, don't, Zenka!" she cried. "You'll never find your way back and anyway, what good can it do when all we want's to get away as soon as we can?"

But as usual there was no stopping Zen-Kurel. Clambering over the side, he vanished into the dark. After a few minutes she shouted, "Zenka! Can you hear me?"

"I'm here," he replied, so close that she jumped. The beating of the rain had prevented them from hearing him returning. A moment later he was back on board and had taken the bailer from her.

"This is an island," he said, "and as far as I can make out, it's no more than eight or nine yards across. There's nothing on it at all, and yet it's revetted right the way round with these stakes."

"I can't believe it!" she said. "We'll wake up in a minute and find ourselves back in-Anda-Nokomis, where would you like to find yourself back in?"

"Melvda-Rain," he answered, still bailing.

He'd never had any basting tact, she thought. Not that this was much of a time or place for it. She said no more.